The Crypts of Lieberkuhn
by BeckySharp
Summary: co-authored by Catherine Cook. Hogwarts is joining the Death Eaters in an Anti-Ministry/Voldemort think tank (everyone is sick of them both). Dumbledore shoves Viviane into his Pensieve as a precaution. Chaos and friskiness result.


The Crypts of Lieberkuhn

By BeckySharp and Catherine Cook

All characters in this story are the figments and property of JK Rowling, except for Viviane Chance, who was created by BeckSharp.

Dumbledore walked into the conference room and took a seat, then looked around at the faculty who had been invited to this particular meeting. 

"Everything is set to go. Does anyone foresee a problem or an obstacle to the success of our plan?" 

"I don't," said Minerva with asperity. "Remember, our motto for the conference is: _Voldy Is More Evil than Fudge, But Dresses Better: Who to Kill First_. Even the Death Eaters are tired of that snake-headed git, and I certainly can't stand another glimpse of a short man in pinstripes." 

Moody made a rude noise. "I can name an obstacle. One. Tall, green eyes, boneheaded, owns falcon." 

"Ah, Professor Chance, our perennial dilemma." Dumbledore closed his eyes and rested his lips on his tented fingers. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and offered an opinion. "Albus, although I do have complete trust in Viviane, this conference is too important to risk having her show up, sword swinging, into the fray. Or into the planned consensus-building session between us and the Malfoy faction." 

Dumbledore opened his eyes to see everyone nodding in agreement. 

"So, a castle full of Death Eaters would be too much for her self-control? Perhaps I should send her on some kind of mission for a few weeks." 

"That won't do it, Albus," groused Moody. "She needs to be bodily secured. Are there any dungeons we aren't using, that we could lock her into for a week or so? 

Dumbledore's spectacles twinkled merrily at the wooden-legged SOB. "All used up at the moment, Alastor. I'm letting Severus keep the Hufflepuffs down there in retaliation for the indelible badger tattoo they collectively managed to burn into his ass." 

"Yes, what's your opinion on the intolerable wench you are bonking, Sevvie-pooh," cooed Moody with gratuitous relish. Everyone turned to stare at the Potions master, who at that moment resembled a murderous lobster. 

Before Severus could do something he would not at all regret, Professor McGonagall interposed. 

"We must contain her, Albus. I'd hate to see our anti-Ministry Death Eater/Order of the Phoenix think tank turn into a massacre. Due to the insufficient control of our resident psychopath." 

Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle so wildly that he appeared to become cross-eyed. "I've got the perfect solution. None of you will see Professor Chance for the next week, but don't worry - she'll be fine." 

Moody's face fell, but he nodded his assent along with the rest of the group.   


~*~*~

Viviane was leaning over the Pensieve in Dumbledore's office, squinting at the silver liquid as it swirled around. "Nothing yet, Albus. I don't see Sprout or Flitwick-" 

As the surface of the bowl cleared, Dumbledore said, "Closer, my dear, lean closer." As she did, he gave her a mighty push from behind, sending her careening headfirst into the magical object. He picked up the bowl and made sure she was well gone, then dumped the contents into his spare chamber pot. 

_Must remember not to use that, or maybe I will if I consume bad seafood_, he thought. He then threw the empty Pensieve into the fire, where, with a mighty shout of "There goes my blackmail opportunity!" it shattered into a million reflective shards. Dumbledore raised a quirky eyebrow at the mess. _Hmm, I seem to recall writing an excruciating poem as a 5th year that went something like this - 'I gather the shards of my broken Pensieve' - oh yes. Awful._

He waved a glass of Old Ogdens into his outstretched hand and settled down in his favorite armchair with a sigh of contentment. "The first time I've been able to relax in two years," he remarked to his phoenix, which gave a feeble squawk and disappeared into a pile of ash. 

~*~*~ 

Viviane was startled by a violent push on her back that sent her hurtling down into a strange tunnel, half-seen visions flashing past the corner of her eyes. _Oh my,_ she thought, _I do believe that's a naked Rosmerta! And isn't that Sirius handcuffed to the bedpost-_ but then she received a strong blow to the back of her head and blacked out. 

~*~*~ 

"Ouch!" Viviane rolled over and put a hand up to the back of her head. "What the hell?" She slowly opened one eye to find herself in a room carved from stone, dramatically gloomy, containing a bed, a table and one chair. "Where am I, Durmstrang?" 

"You're in my memories, Viviane, in a place I once stayed called the Crypts of Lieberkuhn. And here you'll stay, too, for about a week." 

A tall wizard with a lovely, sweeping mane of auburn hair was standing in the room, twinkling at her in a really irritating manner, considering the circumstances. "The staff at Hogwarts will be meeting with a group of Death Eaters, and we didn't want you killing off any stragglers." 

Viviane blinked at him. "Albus? Who did your hair? And you really look good in this dim light! By the way, did you knock me on the head?" 

"Oh no my dear, I'm sorry about that. You managed to fall into the corner of the bed frame." He beamed at her. "You'll be fine. Well, I need to get back." 

He turned to go, but Viviane screamed, "Wait!" 

"Yes?" 

"Where is the bathroom?" 

"Oh, over there." He indicated an arched doorway and then vanished. 

Viviane entered the room and found a 7-foot periwinkle marble tub, complete with a supply of bath salts, massage oil and a collection of overly fluffy towels that exactly matched her eyes. _Wow. This would be completely wasted on Severus_, she thought as minutes later she was relaxing in a bath filled with lavender bubbles.

~*~*~

Dumbledore returned to find two sets of people glaring at each other under a rickety-looking structure of logs and rope strung between trees. 

"….I'm sorry, Moody, but I'm taking Pettigrew." 

"Minerva, you body-elitist nimrod, how dare you not choose me for your team," Moody was hissing out of the mouth that resembled a parking-meter coin slot on steroids. "You've embarrassed the whole Hogwarts faculty by getting me chosen last, and stuck on the team of Mr. I-Haven't-a-Clue. He can't even figure out how to be a decent Death Eater." 

The pole in Lucius Malfoy's ass seemed to get shoved a little father up, causing Remus to blush. "You're welcome to join Minerva's squad. We don't want you." The other members of his team, including Sirius, Crabbe and Madam Hooch nodded vigorously. 

"Too bad, Lucius, you're stuck with him," Professor McGonagall replied primly and with immense satisfaction. 

"MINERVA," shouted Moody. 

"Moody, we need to win this event, and you have a wooden leg. How would we possibly get you into a blasted tree? Lucius, he's yours." 

Dumbledore bounded merrily into the fray. "Minerva, Lucius. How goes the team-building exercise?" 

Minerva glowered at him in a particularly Scottish manner. "Fine." 

"Not," said Lucius at nearly the same time. "I'm not going to drag his-" he pointed at Moody, "limb-lacking backside across a log-and-rope bridge." 

"I've got arms!" yelled Moody. 

"The purpose of this exercise is to build consensus and work together, Lucius. I'm sure you'll do your best to help Moody with his grave physical disabilities." 

Moody would have been hopping up and down with rage, if it had been possible. 

Dumbledore took out a stopwatch that emitted an evil laugh as he flipped open the lid. "Oh right, this bunch doing physical exercise. Hahahahaha!" 

The Headmaster beamed maniacally. "Minerva, your team first. Go!" 

What followed was a ludicrous exercise in futility, as Remus fell off the bridge halfway across, and Crabbe lost his grip when he was momentarily blinded by the scintillating twinkle of Dumbledore's radiant orbs. Pettigrew simply dove off the platform in a paroxysm of self-defeat. 

Finally Minerva shimmied up the tree trunk, then nimbly went hand-over-hand across the logs to the other side. 

"I didn't know Minerva wore thong knickers," Sirius whispered to Hooch. "Most interesting." 

Hooch was rooted to the spot, staring up in rapt attention. "Very," she murmured. "Minerva's got quite the- ouch," she said the next moment, as Poppy stuck her wand forcefully in the small of Hooch's back. 

After thirty minutes of trying, Lucius' team had still not managed to boost Moody onto the platform of the bridge so he could start across. Finally Remus interposed. 

"Look, Alastor really does have a problem. Perhaps we should give him a bye-" 

"Shut up, Remus!" chorused everyone present.

~*~*~

Viviane's boredom over being stuck in the Crypts of Lieberkuhn had gotten to the point where she was beginning to attack the walls for imagined insults. "I am _not_ a brainless French hussy!" she cried, smacking her sword against the wall, which remained impassively unimpressed. 

"I see you're at a loss for entertainment," a voice declared. 

She whirled around in a positive blizzard of robes to find the young, twinkly and overtly virile Dumbledore standing behind her, his arms full of books. 

"Thought you might need these to pass the time. I realized I've trapped you in a particularly boring memory. Sorry about that, but I couldn't have you rampaging about in my more interesting recollections. I'm rather fond of them as they are." He handed her the books. 

"Oh, thanks. Let's see, _House-Training for Recalcitrant Falcons_, mmm, don't have that one. _Teaching without Terrifying_, sounds interesting. _Philosophy in the Bedroom_, oh I've read that. Have a signed copy, as a matter of fact. Albus, just when are you going to let me out of here? I can only take so many baths." 

"Er, well, there's always the massage oil!" the Headmaster said. 

"Albus, just how limber do you think I am?" Viviane queried. 

The young Dumbledore studied her intently for a moment. "You really don't want me to answer that question, do you, my dear? Never mind," he said before she spoke, "I'll send you someone to be your masseur. Do you have any preferences? Male, female, blonde, brunette?" 

Viviane looked at the once and future headmaster for a while. 

A long, long while. 

So long that he was starting to get visibly nervous. 

Finally, the slightest hint of a smile appeared on her lips. 

"Actually, I see a rather nice auburn-haired fellow standing right in front of me," she said in her most seductive, man-trapping voice. 

Dumbledore shifted from foot to foot, apprehension chasing uncontrollable whimsy across his face. It made him look extremely weird. 

"Oh _really_, Albus. For a Headmaster, you certainly can be thickheaded. Don't you see? This is the point in the fic where we begin to snog after realizing that even though we drive each other crazy, it's crazy with love." 

"Ah!" Comprehension was added to the crazed mixture of emotions on his face. "But we can forget about it once we're back in the present, right?" 

"Oh, of course. Then it's back to me flouting rules and you forgiving me after a proper scolding. Although..." 

She reached out and ran her hand down his chest. "Do these amazing abs retain their firmness and definition for the next 50 years?" 

Albus Dumbledore took several very deep breaths before he found himself capable of coherent speech. 

"My dear," he said, in a voice suddenly thick and husky, "for you, they will always be whatever you wish them to be. I specialize in Transfiguration, you know." 

"I know." Viviane's smile was luminous. She slid her hands up to his neck, cradling his jawline under his beard. "And I'll hold you to that, Albus." She pressed herself very close to him indeed, their bodies communicating with each other through their robes. Viviane's eyebrows went up in pleased surprise as her clothed crotch found his. "And I'll definitely hold myself to _this_." 

Dumbledore's blue eyes were starting to glaze over behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. "Viviane, if you keep doing that, I won't be able to control myself for very much longer." 

Mlle. Devereaux emitted a low, throaty laugh. "That's exactly what I was hoping for, Albus," she said as she stepped out of his embrace. She shrugged out of her robes, clumsily yet quickly, and was rewarded by the sound of a sharp gasp from him once she was totally naked before his eyes. 

"B-bubbles. Od-oddment..." he said faintly, and an exasperated Viviane bent to rummage around in her pile of garments for her wand. 

"Off they come!" she said with an elegant wave of her magical device. Dumbledore's robes fell away. 

"That's better," she said. "Now let's get this over with, shall we? I must say, I can see why they call _you_ Headmaster," and beckoned him into the bathroom, its huge lavender tub beginning to fill with golden foam. 

"Yes, ma'am," sighed Albus, thinking this was going to be one memory he'd be returning to often in the future. 

"I had _no_ idea, Albus," purred a very relaxed Viviane as the Transfiguration master's strong fingers kneaded her neck and shoulders as he sat in the tub behind her, "that you were so very, _very_ good with your hands." 

Albus' hands were getting more insistent, when Viviane suddenly stood up, golden foam clinging to her like bits of styrofoam packing. She picked up the wand she'd casually laid down near the edge of the tub and pointed it at her would-be lover. 

"We're going back, right now. How dare you play such a rotten trick, trapping me in this stupid Crypt?" 

He blinked up at her mildly through steam-resistant half-moon spectacles. "Could you aim that a little higher, please? My dear, do you want to be caught, naked and foam-covered, with an equally naked and foam-covered old Headmaster?" 

"That actually might improve my reputation, Albus. Now-" 

She blinked in shock. Both Albus and her wand had disappeared, leaving a naked, horny, foam-lathered and infuriated witch standing in her bathtub. 

~*~*~ 

Several hours later, Viviane was perusing _Teaching Without Terrifying_, having previously grabbed her sword and given the north wall of the Crypt a good punishment for just standing there. She was interrupted by the reappearance, splendidly naked and in a swirl of auburn tresses, of Albus. 

"Now, where were we?" he inquired genially. "As I recall, we were right in the middle of creating a particularly stunning memory when you threatened my manhood with your wand. Don't worry, I've left your wand in a safe place in my office. I call a do-over!" 

Viviane wavered between killing him and jumping his virile bones, but lust overcame rage (the wall had gotten the worst of that) so she once again climbed out of her robes in her uniquely clumsy yet charming manner. 

"Yippee!" Albus cried, and swept her into his arms. Walking into the bathroom, he tossed her enthusiastically into the magically full tub, where she generated a most erotic splash. He jumped in after her, his splash taking the form of a large pair of socks. 

"Showoff," muttered Viviane, before Albus otherwise distracted her. 

~*~*~ 

After a loud and gymnastically impressive bout of sex, they fell asleep for a few hours, sprawled across the bed. Viviane woke slowly, and opened her eyes to find Albus quietly re-robing in the clothes he'd left the first time. 

"Off again, eh? What _are_ they all doing back at Hogwarts?" 

"Oh, the faculty and the Death Eaters are engaging in role-playing games to increase better understanding. So far, none of the injuries have been mortal." He grew thoughtful, and his sparkly eyes blazed anew. "Although Peter has been gratuitously stomped on by everyone when he insists on groveling - Moody is exceptionally good at that - and Minerva has accidentally set fire to Lucius six times. And Severus…well, he'll recover." 

Viviane considered this. "On the whole, Albus, I rather think I've got the better end of the deal." 

"I thought you might see it that way, my dear," he said, giving her one last maniacal twinkle before disappearing. 

~*~*~

Dumbledore bounced into Minerva's office. "My, you look positively rejuvenated, Albus," Minerva remarked in her dry-as-Snape's-toast manner. "Where _have_ you been, and what have you been doing?" 

Dumbledore sent a blast of twinkliness in Minerva's direction, causing her to reel back in her chair and rub her eyes irritably. 

"Oh, just making sure Viviane wasn't losing her mind in my mind. How did the conference go?" 

Minerva smiled. "I'm afraid it broke up without consensus. Lucius got mad and slunk home after I accidentally set him afire again - he was running out of robes. And Moody refused to work with the Death Eaters after Goyle surreptitiously carved "I luve Rosemurta" and "Aurors suk" on his leg. But at least we can say we tried. Are you going back to fetch Viviane now? I rather miss her talent for mixing gin and tonics." 

"Er…ah…I think I'm going to keep her away for a few days yet, to let things settle down before her falcon destroys the dining room again or she decides to go after Sirius for his strange table manners." 

Minerva gave him a stern, Northern Britain look, tinged with an aura of plaid. "Sirius does need to learn to use utensils. Sitting next to him is a nightmare - the way he insists on lapping up his soup with his tongue. My robes end up a mess from all the splashing. By the way, you've been spending a lot of time in your memories-" 

"I have one word to say to that, my dear Deputy Headmistress. Gobblydegook! Spotted dick! Oh dear, that's three words…" Albus said as he headed back to his rooms and into the Crypts of Lieberkuhn. 

~*~*~

Viviane's brilliant green eyes were moist and dreamy, and with good reason. Here she was, lying on her side, with the finest male appendage she had ever known slowly working its own subtle magic inside her as its owner entered her from behind. 

"Ohhhhh, Albus," she sighed happily after one particularly enchanting series of thrusts, "we should have done this months ago...." 

The current headmaster of Hogwarts left a trail of gentle kisses along her neck and shoulders. "I entirely agree, my dear," he murmured. His hands were busy with her front, one hand toying with her nipples, the other sending a long questing finger to circle teasingly around her clitoris. "Although I am strongly tempted never to let you leave, now that I have you just where I want you.... part of me feels that you're wasted on Severus...." 

Viviane responded with a series of Kegel-flexings, which caused Albus to lose what vestiges of control he once possessed

Viviane passed out from sheer, overwhelming pleasure. When she came to, she rolled over. "Ouch!" she cried as Albus' wildly crooked nose poked her in the eye. 

"Sorry," said Albus. "In my youth, I had an unfortunate yen for a Muggle game called ice hockey. Used to Apparate to Canada to play on a frequent basis." 

"Oh," said Viviane, struggling to a sitting position. "Albus, this _has_ been immense fun, but I really do need to get out of here. I've got classes to plan, people to kill…" 

Albus pulled her back down and rolled on top of her, insinuating his spectacular manhood against her thigh. "It is a pity we didn't meet when I was younger, my dear. We may not have gotten much accomplished, but we would have had great fun. Yes, I'd probably be jailed as a petty criminal by this time, but then I wouldn't have to deal with all of those freaks I call my faculty." 

Viviane raised an aggressively pointy brow. "I would have killed you after exposure to a month of incessant whimsy. Now can we please get out of here?" 

The Headmaster gazed down at her in an intensely virile way. 

"Oh all right, one more time before we go," she said, and taking hold of his silky locks, drew him down for a kiss involving little thought and much tongue. 

~*~*~

Viviane found herself back in her rooms, and collapsed on the chaise lounge, for once sexually satiated and not looking for someone to kill or seduce. She waved over a glass of burgundy and drained it in one gulp. "Ah, how I missed you," she crooned to the bottle, as it automatically refilled her glass. "Not you," she snapped at Malhereuse, her ill-tempered falcon, who dropped an eviscerated rat in her lap. "Here, take this into a corner and enjoy yourself." She handed him back the rodent, now in its death throes. 

She was into her third glass of wine when a strange voice called out from her fireplace. "Viviane? Viviane, are you back? I heard that you've returned." 

"Er, who's there?" she asked, giving her wine a suspicious look. 

"This is Severus," the voice barked. "Come down here; I need to talk to you." 

"Severus? Do you have a cold? Your voice-" 

"Just _get down here. Now."_

Viviane stepped into her fireplace and exited into Professor Snape's bedroom. He was sitting forlornly on his lumpy mattress, in shadow from the mournful velvet draperies that hung about the bed. 

"Severus? Are you all right? How went the conference?" 

"That _blasted_ conference. I could happily subject Dumbledore to a lengthy Cruciatus Curse for putting us through it-" 

"What is wrong with your voice? And come out from that moldy tent you call a bed," interrupted Viviane. 

Professor Snape tried to stand, but he swayed back and forth, nearly tumbling over before Viviane grabbed his arms to hold him upright. For the first time she caught a full glimpse of his face, and nearly dropped the miserable wizard through shock. 

"Er, Severus, you – your – " 

"I know," the Potions master said in despair. "My nose." 

Viviane gazed in wonder at the tiny, upturned pug nose, complete with diamond stud nestled in the delicate curve of the nostril that had replaced the haughty blade of a proboscis that once had intimidated thousands. 

"It was that damned fool, Crabbe. He went to hit Flitwick with a spell, and caught me instead." 

"And Severus, why can't you stand – oh, dear," she said as Severus lifted his robe to show her his feet, which had gone from a size 13 down to a ladies' 6 ½. 

"Madam Pomfrey is waiting on some mandrakes to grow up, and then she can provide a potion that returns me to normal. But until then, well, er-" The Potions master blushed and would have shuffled his feet, had they been their normal size. 

"Yes?" queried his sometimes and often insatiable lover. 

"Well, there's – there's one more thing…." 

With an exclamation of horror, Viviane let go of him. He fell over, landing in the dustbin. 

"Oh no. Don't tell me – it can't be – " 

Snape was weeping inconsolably amidst the dust bunnies. "Yes, it's true. My once impressive member now makes an acorn look like a fully mature oak tree." 

_I should have let Albus talk me into staying another week_, thought Viviane. 

She stood in shock for some time. 

Then, an insight came to her: 

"Severus", she said, "stay right there!" She then Disapparated from the dreary little room. 

"You can't Disapparate or Apparate in Hogwarts, wench!", hollered a nasally-challenged Potions master. 

"Oh, shut up," echoed Viviane's voice in a moody sort of way. 

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore had long since given up trying to wipe the dung-eating grin off of his face when, to his great surprise, Mlle. Chance reappeared in his office. 

"My dear Viviane," he cried, stepping forward with unrestrained glee. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" 

"Hold still, Albus," said Viviane, memories of being poked in the eye by an excessively long proboscis uppermost in her mind. Her face screwed up in intense wandless concentration, though to the headmaster it looked as though she were passing a kidney stone. 

"Aha!", she finally cried. 

And the headmaster's nose, which had threatened to overlap his chin, was now trimmed to a firmly authoritative eagle beak. 

Viviane stepped forward to grab his crotch. "Good," she said with a sigh; "this wasn't affected at all. See you later, darling!" 

And with that, she Disapparated back to Severus' chambers, even as Albus shouted "But you can't Disapparate or Apparate in here!" 

Severus was standing, one hand on his face, the other on his crotch. "I can't believe it," he said prayerfully. "Both are as they should be. Viviane, _what_ did you _do?!?_

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, darling," she said as she tripped over a jar of Flobberworm secretion. 

Severus caught her and pulled her forcefully to his rail-thin but manly chest. "Oh Viviane, what a nightmare this has been! I'd gladly slay the Headmaster for agreeing to this disaster of a conference, not to mention his condescending attitude to this stupid tattoo I have. He considers one dumb adolescent mistake some kind of life debt. If only I hadn't gotten the Death Eaters mixed up with the Deadheads; the skull logos were so similar….how I wish I had a VW van…" 

_If I have sex again within the next 48 hours I shan't be able to walk_, thought Viviane. "Eh, sure, Severus. Well, goodnight." She struggled to escape from the sensual prison of his pulsating biceps. 

He looked down at her as she wriggled fascinatingly out of his grasp. "Goodnight? _Goodnight?!_ Do I correctly interpret that as a form of dismissive parting? Oh no, my insatiable wench, tonight I fully intend to sate you….fully." 

"Oh Sev, darling, I'd love to, but I – I – have a bad case of typhoid. Must see Madame Pomfrey. 'Bye!" 

Severus wrapped his long and talented digits around her arm. "Wait a minute. I can't even brew a simple Growth Potion without the both of us getting into an argument and then having the most imaginative sex. What's wrong?" 

He searched her compost-green eyes with his own deep, black orbs that resembled  bowling balls rolling darkly towards a strike. 

"What is it, Viviane," he whispered, his voice as deep, silky and congealable as Beauharnais sauce. "Are you not consumed with the desire to hump like frustrated virgins?" 

"Er-" said Viviane. 

The Potions master cast himself face down upon his lumpy mattress. "I am not worthy!" he wailed. "I have no right to you – marked as I am-" He buried his head in his arms, one hand scratching feebly at his Dark Mark. Viviane could just make out the occasional choked-out phrase of "greasy hair," "all over pimples," and "so what if I tortured innocent people to death." 

Finally, he rolled over and stared at the ceiling in a frenzy of self-accusation. "Trample me!" he shouted. "Grind those hot witch-boot heels into my sexily prostrate form! I beg you! Then let's have world-ending sex." 

Viviane hobbled to the fireplace. _I need a margarita,_ she thought, and tossed some Floo powder into Snape's exceptionally grimy fireplace. She fell into Professor McGonagall's parlor, where a couple of heads popped up over the back of the sofa. 

"Minerva, Poppy," Viviane said. "Sorry to interrupt, but I'm in dire need of a strong drink." 

Within moments, the three witches were seated around the fire, drinking margaritas, no ice, no salt, and extra tequila. 

"So, I hear the conference was unsuccessful," commented Viviane, after an awkward pause. 

"I rather enjoyed it," Professor McGonagall remarked. "But where, exactly, did Albus stow you for the duration?" 

"Oh, he shoved me into his Pensieve, then broke it to prevent my escape. I assume he got a new one, since I'm here." 

Viv was surprised by the amused expressions of her companions, and raised one questing, yet sensual brow. 

"Which memory did you find yourself trapped in, my dear," queried the indomitable Scotswoman. 

"Oh – oh, just an hotel he once stayed in. Terribly boring." 

"So it wasn't the Crypts of Lieberkuhn," Professor McGonagall chuckled. "Albus was _such_ a terror with that Pensieve back in his wild, younger days. He used to try and trap his dates down there. As if any witch with half a brain wouldn't realize in two seconds that crypts do not come equipped with seven-foot lavender bathtubs! I got out in fifteen minutes, didn't I, my savory haggis," she crooned, running a perfectly formed finger down the irresistible dimple in Madam Pomfrey's chin. 

"Most obvious," said Viviane. "May I bother you for another drink, Minerva?" 

"Minerva?" 

~~finis~~ 


End file.
